


Apples to Ashes

by Selkit



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Ashley Has Had Enough, Awkward Conversations, F/M, Josh Lives, Mild Blood, Post-Canon, Rough Kissing, Surprise Kissing, population me, rarepair hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 00:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8265548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkit/pseuds/Selkit
Summary: Kissing Josh is way different from kissing Chris. 
Kissing Chris is sweet, slow. A little tentative, a little clumsy, but earnest, heartfelt. Kissing Josh is—
Wait. Kissing Josh?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have no explanation or excuse for this, other than that I apparently wanted to write an angsty makeout scene for a pairing I didn't even know I shipped until I started writing. That, and Ashley deserves a chance to act rather than react for a change.

Kissing Josh is way different from kissing Chris. 

Kissing Chris is sweet, slow. A little tentative, a little clumsy, but earnest, heartfelt. Kissing Josh is—

Wait. Kissing _Josh?_

A jolt of confused shock bursts through Ashley’s brain, but for some reason her lips decide to keep moving, pressing, and she hears a ragged breath in the back of her throat. She’s not sure if it’s hers or his. 

_What were we even doing…?_

She can’t remember. Josh’s fingers are wound tight in her hair at the nape of her neck, and his tongue is sliding along hers. He tastes like whiskey and pine and apples—

Apples. Okay. That makes sense. It comes back to her in a rush: standing in her kitchen frowning down at the pile of apple pie ingredients on the counter, thinking the crust just wasn’t doing what it was supposed to be doing, then calling Josh up in a burst of impulsive frustration because it was a little-known fact that he was an amazing cook. And then he’d offered to come over and help, and she’d agreed despite her apprehension because her therapist was always telling her to confront her fears, and Josh was inextricably linked to a pretty damn big fear. Win-win, right?

Yeah. Win-win- _win_ , apparently. 

She gives a last gasp and pulls back for some air that’s not laced with that heady-sweet apple tang, and Josh seems to come to a similar conclusion. He jerks back and goggles at her, running a hand through the bedhead mess of his hair. It’s starting to get unruly and curly, the way it does when he lets it go for a while.

Ashley very deliberately does _not_ think about snagging her fingers on those curls.

“Hey, hold up,” Josh is saying. More like panting, really. “You and Chris—”

“We’re on a break,” Ashley blurts, getting the words out as fast as possible. It’s true, but that doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable to think about. 

Josh stares at her for a second, then heaves an exaggerated sigh and slumps back against the counter. “Seriously? After all that, Chris still can’t get his shit together? I swear I need to—”

“It’s not him, it’s me,” Ashley interrupts, loudly, because the thought of Josh doing anything _more_ to supposedly help her and Chris’s relationship is, frankly, too terrifying to contemplate. 

Amazingly, Josh is silent. Ashley clears her throat, fidgeting. There can’t be anything on the planet more awkward than having the “it’s not you it’s me” conversation with both your boyfriend _and_ your boyfriend’s best friend. 

“It’s just…” she begins, then stops and stutters, because she has a hard enough time explaining it to herself, let alone to anyone else. She’s pretty sure she loves Chris, but whenever she’s with him it’s a complicated muddle of traumatic memories and an uncomfortable sense of obligation. She knows she’ll never forget that look of sad, determined resignation on his face when he held the gun up to his own head instead of hers. Is she with him because she wants to be, or because she feels like she owes him? 

“I just have some stuff to work out,” she mutters. It sounds lame, but she can barely sort out all her conflicting feelings about Chris in her therapy sessions. Let alone to _Josh_ , of all people. 

Josh looks down at Ashley’s hands, still hopelessly tangled in the front of his shirt. He looks back up, eyebrow raised. “Some stuff to work out, huh?”

Not long ago, his tone probably would have made her flush and stammer out something apologetic or defensive, but now—

Ashley bristles.

“Hey, listen,” she says. “First of all, if you’re thinking about judging me or—or slut-shaming me or something, you can just cut that out right now. You don’t get to judge anyone for like, _anything_ after what you pulled. And second of all…”

She stops and blinks, vaguely surprised at her own bravery. Josh looks a little surprised, too. And a little amused, and a little…turned on? 

“Second of all?” he prompts. And then he licks his lips. Jerk. 

“Second of all,” she says, and extracts one hand to point it in his face. _“You_ kissed _me.”_

He’s already shaking his head. “No way. You were the kisser, I was just the innocent kissee in this equation.” 

“Yeah, right.” Ashley huffs. “You’re a compulsive liar is what you are.”

He keeps shaking his head, a slow, lazy smile snaking across his face. “Not this time.” 

Maybe it’s that aggravating smug look on his face, or the lingering trauma from the mountain, or the pent-up uncertainty of her feelings about Chris, or some unholy combination of all three. It sends a bolt of pure frustration spiraling down into her belly, and she launches herself forward, pushing down on Josh’s shoulders and slanting her mouth over his. She hears the distant _crack_ of his head hitting the cabinet above the counter, then he’s falling further, his back flush against the countertop. He makes a sound like nothing she’s ever heard, part gasp and part growl, a mix of surprise and pleasure and pain, and Ashley lets momentum carry her forward until she’s straddling him, hands still pinning his shoulders. Whether by accident or design his thigh slips up between her legs, wrenching a yelp from her throat, and she takes his lower lip between her teeth and bites down hard.

She doesn’t pull back until her lips go slick and sticky, her tongue meeting the bright, sharp taste of blood. Gradually she becomes aware of Josh staring up at her, looking dazed, aroused, and a little shaken.

“Holy hell,” he breathes. He puts one hand to his lip, and his fingers come away stained red. 

Something lurches in Ashley’s gut, and this time it’s not at all pleasant. She went through hell up on that mountain, but so did he, and so much of it was tied to teeth and blood and flesh and— _oh God, what if I just triggered some awful memory of when he was trapped in those mines?_

A flood of apologies springs to her lips, but she clamps down on them, watching him warily. He licks his lips, tentatively this time, and wipes blood away with the back of his hand. 

“Damn, Ashley,” he says, and to her surprise, she hears a new thread of something like respect woven through his voice. “Didn’t think you had that in you.”

Ashley screws her face up. “Yeah, I don’t know, maybe there’s a little lingering aggression from that time you put on a clown mask and chased me around, and knocked me out and tied me up—twice—and punched me in the face, and—”

“Okay, okay,” Josh says. “Point taken.”

“Is it?” Ashley sighs and folds her arms, looking away. The bowl of sliced and peeled apples sits on the other side of the counter, forgotten and waiting. 

“Hey,” Josh says. He lifts one hand, slowly, and brushes his thumb beneath her left eye. She feels the hesitant press of his fingers curling around the back of her head. There’s something unexpectedly tender in the gesture, and she blinks, startled into stillness. 

“Look, I am sorry about, you know,” Josh says. “The whole punching thing. That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.” Ashley reaches up and removes his hand from her face, gently but firmly. “And out of everything, _that’s_ the part you’re sorry about?”

“I mean, it all went pretty sideways. Obviously.” His eyes slide away from hers. “Chris chewed me out pretty good about the punch. About how awful it is to hit a girl, and stuff.”

“Yeah, well,” Ashley says. “It is awful. On the other hand, I guess I _had_ just stabbed you in the shoulder with a pair of scissors.”

He looks up at her sidelong, flexing his shoulder beneath her fingers. “That still hurts sometimes, you know.”

“Seriously, Josh?” She shakes her head, backs a few steps away from the counter.

“I’m just saying.” He leans up off the counter, his gaze turning keen. “If you wanted to—”

“—if you say ‘kiss it and make it better,’ this time _I_ will punch _you_ in the face.”

“I believe it.” He leans over and grabs an apple slice from the bowl, popping it in his mouth and waggling his eyebrows. “Worth a try, though.” 

Ashley sighs. “You’re hopeless.”

“Yeah.” For just a moment, Josh’s eyes go distant before he covers it up with a smirk, leaning forward to press one more kiss to Ashley’s cheek. “Nobody knows that better than me.”


End file.
